Perfectly
by Peahopeless
Summary: V tells Evey about the winter after his escape from Larkhill, and Evey, wanting to lift the atmoshere, engages in a bit of wintry fun. Followup story to, I'm Not Your Father.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros.

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes:** Follow-up to "I'm Not Your Father" (this is the next morning), so obviously many references. Make sure you're familiar with that story first.

References to scene in movie where his gloves are off. Also, I'm using this story to help build toward "I'm Still Here".

Also, remember in the movie where Finch comments that Larkhill is near Salisbury? (And it really is ... look it up on mapquest.) There's a Cathedral there, and what V is about to say about that Cathedral is actually true. (Yeah, it surprised me too. Talk about coincidences.)

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Perfectly".

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**Perfectly**

"It's just beautiful, isn't it?" Evey sighed, staring out across the little garden. "Just beautiful."

"Yes indeed," V replied thoughtfully. ... "Absolutely lovely."

A private, botanical nursery on the edge of London proper -- -- where V had taken his lady to see the snow. It was closed for the season, groundskeepers coming only once a week for inspections. That certainly wouldn't be today though, given the ten inches of snow on the ground.

Most of London had slowed to crawl. This was not the type of snowfall the citizenry was accustomed to, nor the transportation services prepared for. The bus and railway systems were still recovering from years of disrepair and corruption under Norsefire, leaving the public few options other than good old-fashioned foot power.

Fortunately, for Evey and her beau, walking was made much easier by his knowledge of the tube tunnels. The problem was just getting V out here in the first place. How resistant he'd been that morning, when she'd first suggested they go above to see the snow.

As far as she was concerned, this was a bit of an occasion, even beyond the record storm. -- -- It had been her first night spent below, though she admittedly hadn't slept much. ... ... Too many memories. Too many regrets.

She could still remember other nights in V's former home. Years ago ... wondering if she'd ever escape. Wondering how she could survive the thievery of an entire year from her life. A lunatic had taken her -- of that she'd been convinced. And his underground lair was nothing more than her prison.

... ... But now? ... ...

A new Gallery. Good thing, because she wasn't sure she'd have survived a night of memories in the old one. And V ... ... he wasn't a 'lunatic' anymore. Her vision had changed. Her vision had cleared. -- -- Now he was the man she loved. And in the end, she had indeed lost a year of her life. More than that. -- -- A year-and-a-half to be precise, when he had slipped away.

It had left her fitful this past night. ... Too much time spent wondering how she could have run so easily the first time, when now, the thought of doing so hurt more than she could imagine.

Had V slept well?

It was difficult to tell when faced with only the mask. He had seemed a tad bit lethargic this morning. Then he'd simply taken a defensive position once she'd suggested a trip to see the snow.

More than a few diversions were offered up for her consideration. ... ... Some movie watching -- especially with Christmas fast approaching. Or perhaps a lesson in piano or chess -- skills he'd been hoping to teach her someday. Or even just a morning spent snuggled side by side on the sofa, talking, or reading one of the classics. It was an indulgence he was becoming rapidly unable to get his fill of ... and she must admit, it was also the most tempting of his many suggested distractions.

But she wanted the snow, especially when so much of it blanketed the ground. Too many winters had been spent unable to enjoy it. -- -- Looking over her shoulder for Fingermen, cops, or government agents, when she would much rather have been looking down at the fluffy white crystals piled around her. Or up, at the icy clouds filling the tree branches.

And if she wanted snow, then she would have snow. V had relented, choosing this secluded nursery for their outing.

A cement bench was where they now sat, the snow brushed away. She had joined him within the cloak. -- -- An extra layer of protection against the cold. Two, actually, if you counted him as well. And as V had guessed, there was no one else about. ... Peace and privacy, for just the two of them.

Still though ... he did seem a bit nervous. His arm was draped around her shoulder, as motionless as if it had frozen solid. And his gaze was set on the distant gardens -- or so it appeared -- yet never seemed to move.

"You ok?" she asked, looking up at him. His thumb stroked lightly in acknowledgement of the question, but it took a good few more seconds for any verbal response to follow.

"Lawn as white as driven snow; Cyprus black as e'er was crow; gloves as sweet as damask roses; masks for faces and for noses."

Evey shook her head in a moment of confusion. "What in the world does that mean?" ... There was a lot to recognize in his chosen quotation, and she had no idea exactly what she was supposed to be retrieving from it.

He smiled ironically behind the mask, though she would not see it. "Only that this is certainly not my realm. ... ... The mask. The gloves. Perhaps they might pass as protection against the bitter cold. But as Shakespeare himself doth state, I remain 'black as e'er was crow,' against such pure, stark whiteness. ... ... There was a time, long ago, when I could hide myself within it. But now ... ..."

There was something odd in his voice. Something melancholy tingeing the words' edges.

Mind you, he did have a point, in a way. Dressed in black, he stood out like a sore thumb in this weather. It was probably the main reason he had been so resistant this morning, and the reason they were in such an isolated location -- -- guaranteed more than ever that no one would happen upon them. There was no darkness here for him to slip behind. Even those shadows cast by snow-covered trees, seemed too bright and too reflective to be his allies.

But surely that was not what caused his pensive, seemingly sorrowful mood. Ice melted and winter passed. And no season could reach him in the Shadow Gallery.

She was about to state the same, when he seemed to snap out of the reverie entirely on his own. His arm tightened to pull her close, the mask dipping into her hair. "You however, do blend in perfectly. Lovely as the driven snow. Yes, Evey, it is indeed beautiful out here."

Burrowing further into his side, Evey giggled bashfully. "One of my first memories is of a snowstorm. It was a really bad winter. ... ... Well, 'bad' unless you were a child. My best friend and I spent most days outside playing. The snow was amazing. Just kept piling up, nearly as high as us. ... ... Must be twenty years ago."

"Twenty-two, love."

... ... The decision to correct her was not made lightly. He knew the winter of which she spoke. Had been thinking on it quite a bit since they'd emerged from the tunnels. With the thick snow that covered the ground now, how could he not? And the decision to yield some information to the woman he loved, had already been carefully considered.

Again, Evey looked up, though V's attention stayed firmly on the distance. Now she knew something was wrong. "You remember it too?" she asked, though it came out sounding more like a curious accusation. -- -- -- -- And that was when the thought struck her, leaving her squinting at its impact.

It couldn't be. Could it? Her concern grew as she rushed desperately through the math. After the second, confirming calculation, the whisper, "Oh my God," finally escaped her.

... ... His head bowed, and he softly confirmed her findings. ... ... "It was a mere two months into my freedom."

"Oh my God," she repeated, stretching toward him in sympathy. "I didn't realize. I didn't mean to bring up ..."

"Shhhh," he hushed. "I know that. It was I who raised the issue. ... ... I will tell you, Evey. I surprise even myself ... but I will tell you."

It would be a lie to say that she didn't want to know. ... ... And a lie to say that she did.

The worst images were already filling her head. She knew the burns on his hands. And yes, she knew his body's skill at healing. But in only weeks? The fewest of months?

Hadn't he said that he stood out against the snow? How true that was at this very moment, deep in Evey's worst thoughts. White snow, with this man huddled atop. ... ... Suffering from pain she couldn't begin to imagine; on the run from those who must have been chasing him; perhaps even lost. ... And alone. The beginning of so many years to be spent alone.

She pinched her eyes against such horrific thoughts. -- -- There was little she wouldn't give, just to be able to crawl back in time. To find this man ... even if all she could have offered was her presence. ... ... "It was bad, wasn't it?" she whispered.

V's head dipped in silent agreement, although he would save her from a verbal affirmation. Save her also from the worst details. -- -- For another time, perhaps, when they might be presented -- and received -- more easily.

But for now, she would know at least some of it. She should know at least some of it.

"I spent that winter in Salisbury. Not terribly far from Larkhill ... certainly not as far as I would have preferred at the time. But in retrospect, it stands as one rare occasion where the snow allied itself with me."

... ... And it was to himself that he kept his next thought. -- -- That perhaps the previous evening was another such occasion. This storm that had kept his beloved in the Gallery for the night. He would not deny to himself how much it pleased him, though he would also not be so forward as to express it aloud. A silent squeeze of the woman at his side, would have to suffice.

"With each snowfall my tracks were further obliterated. And although the weather halted my own progress as well, I deemed the town safe enough. ... ... There's a Cathedral there. A rather famous one -- or so it was in those days. A cloisters stands attached, wherein I found my sanctuary."

It was, to some degree, comforting to Evey's ears. To know he'd at least found shelter. But there were worse things. -- -- Things that even a roof over one's head couldn't fix. Her hand squeezed his in silent communication, and when she found her voice, it was not strong. ... ... "Did it hurt? From the fire?"

"You know I heal well, Evey," he replied, purposefully selecting positive words. "You know my ability to recover."

... ... She had no choice but to accept the answer, because he was already continuing. ... ...

"A kindly, elderly Sister of the church assisted me, although I'm certain she knew nothing of who, or what, I was. I had already acquired enough clothing, and in the midst of winter, a highwayman wearing a ski-mask isn't too terribly out of place. The 'gentleman bandit', as she once referred to me." ... He actually chuckled briefly at the memory. ... "Again, I must admit, the season worked in my favour that year."

Evey swallowed, reviewing each statement he made.

She knew he was buffering things. Omitting some details and glossing over others. Protecting himself from the memory -- and her from the knowledge. ... ... There were questions she felt the compulsion to ask. ... ... About his travel. About his true condition at the time. Details that, like a moth to a flame, she could feel the overwhelming need to know ... despite how terribly it would hurt.

But if the tale was to be told, it would have to be done his way. So she pushed the questions aside; left for another day. -- -- Perhaps to the relief of them both.

For now, she would find her comfort simply in the man he had become ... ... pressing herself against him ... anchoring them both to the here and now. And yes, she did want to know whatever he was willing to reveal. ... ... "Did you spend the entire winter there?"

V nodded. "It was then that I realized what must be done. What had to be accomplished, as Herculean as the task appeared. Indeed, I question if the universe itself was not guiding me. ... ... In those days, one of the few remaining copies of the 'Magna Carta' resided in the Salisbury Cathedral."

... ... "The 'Magna Carta'?!" Evey exclaimed, glancing up at him. "Are you serious?!"

He coaxed her back down. "I would not jest over such a thing, I assure you. Norsefire soon commandeered it though ... along with three other copies in existence. I have yet to find them, but if they still survive, they shall most certainly be reclaimed from the devil's hands. The document is of inestimable value to the world. -- -- The foundation of so many democracies. -- -- The foundation of my resolve, as well."

"I bet you're a scholar on it, aren't you?" Evey mused, knowing her beau as well as she did. Even the modest tilt the mask would now be making, she could imagine well.

" 'To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice,' " he quoted, letting the words speak for themselves. ... ... "Many a night I spent studying the translation. Even the Latin I have become more familiar with than one might expect. ... ... Justice is a man's right, Evey. A truth known for centuries. A truth revealed world-wide -- on the voices of those who would admit it, and in the hearts of those who would not."

"I do understand," she finally murmured, her arm wrapping around his midriff to squeeze in embrace. Her solidarity was offered. "But for now, can I just be thankful you're still here?" ... Her cheek pressed to the cool fabric of his tunic, searching out the warmth beneath. Maybe it could flood away those horribly cold images of this man -- shivering in an old Cathedral.

"Oh yes, love," he soothed, irresistibly curling further around her. A weight had been lifted. Only one of many, but a weight nonetheless. "I truly do not mean to dwell. But ... perhaps it is time I allowed you more understanding."

... ... "Of you?" she asked ... barely believing.

"Of me," he agreed. "You gift me with so many of your memories. Joys that I would otherwise be left to imagine on my own. ... ... Mine are not of equal cheer, and would be disdained by most." ... His hand rubbed down her arm then, in silent acknowledgement that she was no longer one of 'most' -- she was his Evey. ... "If you wish, though ... I will grant them."

Across his chest, Evey's grip tightened. Silent affirmation that she did indeed want to know such things. That even as she quite literally tried to prove now, it brought them closer.

Bringing her sadness was not his intent though. The weight he had lifted from himself, was not meant to burden her instead. Yes, some facts may be difficult to hear. But he would do his best to ensure they not bury too deeply into her as well. ... ... Not into the friend and beloved he had found at last.

So after she'd been given time to absorb his revelations ... ... after the tension had begun releasing and her eyes had returned to the snow-covered gardens, he began coaxing her toward lighter fare.

"Tell me of your childhood winter," he requested. "Your friend. Your brother. ... Tell me what you remember."

"V," she sighed in resistance. There was now something horribly wrong about that past. That she had played with such carefree abandon, oblivious to what happened in the distance.

"Please, Evey? Won't you please tell me? ... Share your memories, so they may lighten my own?" His hand moved through her hair, finding any way he could to ease her mind.

She took a breath of cold air, letting it out slowly. ... ... "One thing I do remember, is the amount of snow. We built little forts, then had snowball fights from dawn to dusk. I was probably too young for it, but my parents forced my brother to take me and my best friend with him. It was hilarious," ... she finally laughed a little, bringing a smile to V's face as well ... "until I took a hit directly on the forehead. Pretty unfair, but I came back kicking."

V's chuckle grew audible. Yes, he could see that. "Your motto became 'fire at will'?" he mused.

"No, I mean I really came back kicking. Kicked snow in the face of the boy who did it." ... Now her laugh was genuine, and she adjusted her head atop her beau. "Luckily, enough of the others came to my rescue, that he couldn't retaliate. ... ... I used to be quite stubborn. Lost it for awhile."

Then she glanced up, some playfulness having returned to her expression. "Aren't you happy I've rediscovered that part of me? Bet you never expected it."

"No, love, I didn't," he agreed. "But I approve of even your stubbornness. And ... any method you may choose for your own personal defense."

... ... Interesting words for him to choose -- perhaps even a challenge -- given his next action.

Reaching into the snow that piled beside the bench, he collected the tiniest bit on his gloved finger, then touched it gently to her nose. ... ... She was so inviting ... so close ... ... he simply couldn't help it.

Evey giggled and looked up, the lone droplet of melting snow falling away. And since it was his fault, she made a point of drying the tip of her nose on his tunic. "Personal defense, eh? Are you testing that now?"

"You need never defend yourself from me, love," he assured. "And as it stands, I've never had a skirmish in the snow. It is I who would have no practiced defense."

... ... So she was right after all -- it was a challenge. And she would accept it. Anything that might improve his memories of the season -- anything that might build their own memories -- was an idea worth taking.

She climbed out of his arms, briefly suspecting herself insane to give up his warmth in favour of the cold air, but far more anxious to play with him. "You're going to regret this," she announced confidently, then stepped toward the edge of the area he'd kicked clear for their feet. "You're really going to regret this. ... Because now, you're it."

Years had come and gone since she'd packed a proper snowball, but it came back to her. And in seconds, she was raising the icy weapon menacingly, smiling all the way.

"Perhaps I should run?" he suggested, to which she promptly laughed ... ...

"Yes!"

... ... And so he did. At a speed she could barely believe.

Now, she had seen him sprint on rare occasions in the past, so she knew this was one of his 'enhancements'. But how had he made it off the bench and around the other side of her, all before she could even raise her arm?

It was yet more of him that he had decided she should see. If their bond was to strengthen, then the good and the bad must both be revealed. Admittedly, sometimes he questioned into which category these virus-created enhancements fell ... ... especially given the role he'd begun to fill in her life. But either way, this was another truth that he would allow her.

And so he waited ... trying to gauge how shocked she might be after having witnessed such a flagrant display.

... ... It began with an expression of disbelief, her mouth slightly ajar. She was tempted to ask exactly how he'd covered twenty yards -- through the snow -- in the blink of an eye. One of those instinctual questions people are naturally programmed to ask.

But this was V, and she knew full-well how it had been done. What mattered was not 'how', but 'why'. -- -- -- It was meant to show her. To remind her exactly who it was she'd been attaching herself to, for all of these months gone by.

And her reaction was the reassurance he needed, couched in the stubbornness she had just warned him of. -- -- Her hand went to her hip and her lips pursed. "That's not fair, you know. You're like the older kids, all trying to take advantage of the preschooler."

... ... A matter of seconds, and V laughed in relief. So she approved, did she? And still wanted to play? For that, he would relinquish every talent he could possibly claim -- enhanced or not.

Slowly, he waded toward her, holding her gaze as he advanced. The snowball in her hand could come flying at him any moment now, and he would make absolutely no attempt at evasion. She could even aim it at his mask, and he would duck not one inch. On the contrary, when he halted a matter of only feet away, he spread his arms wide.

"No advantages, love. Not against you. ... ... I've told you I have no practiced defense. Nor do I wish for one."

Evey's smile turned into a wry grin, and she covered the remaining distance to her beloved. The sentiment warmed her against the chill, and tempted her knees to sink right down into the snow. Even convinced her lungs to take a good inhalation, despite the sharpness of the cold air.

... ... But ... he would still have to pay for dashing away like that.

The snowball was bounced casually in the palm of her hand, then turned over as she tried to decide exactly where to smash it. His arms remained spread, letting her literally choose her target. The only problem was ... where did she have any prayer of reaching even the tiniest bit of skin? That would be the victory ... even for children playing this game. But there was literally nothing like that available.

Fawkes's grin seemed to smirk while she thought. ... ... And thought. ... ... Until finally, she had it.

Her hand landed on his arm, coaxing it toward her. He took an instinctual step closer ... perhaps because he thought she wanted his embrace? Had that hard, white grin just turned hopeful?

Alas, that was not her plan, and she took his hand instead. Her fingers twined with his ... ... while she shoved as much of the snowball as possible down the opening of his glove.

He laughed. He even grimaced briefly behind the mask. But true to his word, he did not pull away.

"This is like no snowball fight I have ever seen," he commented facetiously. "Or perhaps you bend the rules? Is this how you instigated those quarrels with the other children?"

"Noooo," she drew, packing as much snow into the glove as she could. "But you leave me no alternative."

And when she was done, he nodded very politely at her ... as if thanking her for the wet hand. She stepped back, oh so proud of herself, while he removed the glove to shake the icepack off his wrist.

When she saw his hand though, she did pause. She'd certainly seen the scars often enough over the last few months, that this was no surprise. But it hadn't occurred to her that perhaps frozen snow might feel especially uncomfortable -- given his skin. She didn't really know ... and could have kicked herself for not considering it sooner.

"Does that hurt?" she asked softly. "I mean, with the cold?"

V glanced up while he slapped the glove against his leg, jarring free the last of the ice crystals. "Hurt?" he asked, requiring a moment to grasp her meaning. And when he did, he fancied this woman could melt the snow with her voice alone. -- -- She certainly had a similar effect on him.

Since her very first glimpse of his hands, never had she shown anything but concern. He could still remember that morning he had 'tested' her, three years ago. -- -- Very calculated he'd been. Very careful. And now, on this morning, he'd removed the glove with no thought beyond the privacy of the gardens. That she would see, was not an issue.

Her eyes moved over his skin, clearly trying to determine if there was any further damage ... ... perhaps wondering if the flesh was redder than usual. His own gaze followed suit, noting the glisten of melted snow as he turned his fingers over.

"No, love," he answered sincerely. "I feel the cold no differently than you." And to prove it, he reached to scoop up a handful of white fluff. "In fact, my dexterity is obviously improved, with no glove to bind." ... ... He started packing the snow within his fingers, rotating the mass into a ball. ... He wanted to play with her. How badly he wanted to play with his lady.

She eyed him suspiciously. "That's going to be for me, isn't it?" ... ... And she didn't mean that it would be handed politely in her direction.

V nodded. "Indeed it is."

"I can't run as fast as you," she pointed out in coy defense.

"True. ... ... And I will not throw it hard. Certainly never at my love's head, as that horrid boy once did. Perhaps I will not throw it at all. ... ... But oh yes, this snowball is for you."

She backed away ... one step ... two ... her beau already beginning his approach.

So she ran. Just turned and bolted.

... ... Unfortunately, the path along which they'd come -- cleared partially by her masked man as they'd arrived -- had begun to ice over. No sooner did her boots hit it, than her feet went flying out from under her.

Ironic, wasn't it, that the same speed he'd so worriedly demonstrated only minutes earlier, would now be used without a second thought? He was behind her in no time, reaching for her arms.

Stopping her in mid-slide would have been no problem at all ... if he'd have been willing to wrench both her arm and her hip. So instead, he simply anchored her against himself and slid down to the ground along with her. It was his own body that absorbed the impact with the frozen snow.

... ... That was the gentlemanly tradition, was it not? That if a man should approach a puddle with his lady, it was his coat -- or his cloak, as it were -- that should be laid down for her safe passage? Ice and snow were merely forms of frozen water. And there was no caveat stating that the man dare not be in the cloak when it was placed on the ground.

She landed atop him with an 'oomph' -- -- torso to torso; chest to chest; his arms having finally caught her properly -- despite losing the snowball in the process. And their laughter drifted out across the still, white garden ... ... his a rumble, hers a lyric.

"Well now that's not supposed to be part of the game either," she teased, bracing herself as if to climb away. She was still in 'flee for your life' mode, and was already looking to regain her balance.

He held her down within his embrace ... ... surprising her at first, but she gave in readily. So readily in fact, that his next few breaths were much sharper than usual.

... ... Did she notice, as she rose and fell with each one?

Her giggles diminished ... as did his ... and she crawled a little further atop him. That, his arms would allow. That, his arms would encourage, bringing her closer in a way that seemed almost outside himself.

The world around him remained utterly surreal, for this man of the shadows. White and bright. Contrasting him in almost every way possible. -- -- A world he really had little control over, but that also had a history of helping him when he required it the most.

... ... Was this one of those times?

... ... Was that why the storm had moved in the previous eve, leading to his beloved's first night in the Gallery?

... ... Was that why so much snow had fallen, ensuring that they could make this excursion safely?

... ... Was that why she'd been thrown off her feet, only to find her rescue atop the man who loved her?

... ... Now this woman hovered above him, grinning coyly. ... Wanting to share her enjoyment of this world -- -- with him.

It was beginning to look different. It was beginning to look correct. It was beginning to lure him in. ... ... And she saw it as well.

"You do fit in this realm, V," she stated with quiet confidence, remembering his earlier claim. One set of feminine, woolen-clad fingers landed on his shoulder, purposefully touching some snow that had landed there during their crash to the ground. "You fit in perfectly."

And behind the mask, his grin rose. "Yes love," he agreed ... and he really did mean it. His gloved hand wove into her hair, gliding down to dislodge a few snowflakes. "Because you're in it."

... ... After all these years, some enjoyment of the snow. The newly found, irresistible delight of experiencing it with his love.

... ... And he still wanted to play.

His bare hand reached out, catching her eye as he collected more of the frozen, white powder. Slowly, he scrunched it into his palm ... warning her silently as the next snowball was formed.

"And speaking of 'it', Evey ... I believe that is you."

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Lawn as white as driven snow;  
Cyprus black as e'er was crow;  
Gloves as sweet as damask roses;  
Masks for faces and for noses;  
-- Shakespeare, The Winter's Tale

To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice.  
-- The Magna Carta

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**This story has accompanying artwork.** To view them, visit my aol homepage and click on, "Perfectly".


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